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“She’s your responsibility.”
As usual, with Val the real threat lay more in what he didn’t say rather than what he did. He agreed to open his home to us, pull back the veil and bare a vulnerability few ever witnessed. However, reward never came without risk. I swore on my life his family would be safe. I personally guaranteed Adriana would prove both her loyalty to him and herself worthy of the Carrera name.
She had to.
Because if she failed, we would both die.
And I wasn’t so sure Val would be the Carrera to pull the trigger.
Chapter Twelve
Brody
Mexico City, Mexico
I whistled as we approached the opulent excess of the Carrera mansion. “So, this is how the other half lives.”
Adriana paused on the first step, her bag sliding down her arm. “What are you talking about? You grew up in a mansion.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I swiveled around on my heels to face her. “Well, if it isn’t the pot calling the kettle black. For your information, I grew up in a modest three-bedroom house until my dad died. It wasn’t until my mom remarried that we shot up into an obscene tax bracket.”
“But you’ve been to Val’s estate before, right?”
“Meetings in Mexico, yes. House, no.” I fought a smirk as Adriana’s brow furrowed. As fun as it was to toy with her, I had no desire to encourage more of her questions. “Look, you grew up in this life. You know better than anyone that the people in a man’s business inner circle aren’t necessarily the ones in his personal one. Val has a wife and a son to protect. I get that.”
“But you’re his second in command,” she argued. “Besides, regardless of what happened between you and Eden in the past, you said it yourself. She’s his wife, and you saved her life.”
I shrugged. “Sometimes a person’s mistakes will always haunt them and overshadow any good they’ll ever do.”
“That’s depressing,” she huffed, turning to climb toward the front steps.
Chuckling, I followed behind her. “That’s life, kid.”
As we both stood outside the enormous archway that framed the front door, our limo driver held out his hand, preventing us from moving any closer.
“What?” I asked, almost barreling into him. “Is there a password?”
He grunted and turned his palm up. “Guns.”
Adriana’s eyes narrowed, and before she could make this worse, I clarified things for the idiot. “I’m Brody Harcourt.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you’re Santa Muerte. No guns.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Adriana nodded toward the estate. “And what about their guns? I suppose if we use the wrong fork they’re allowed to shoot us in the face?”
Jesus Christ.
“Adriana!”
“What?”
“Shut up and give him your gun.”
She shot me a wry look. “I don’t have a gun.”
As much as I understood her reluctance, I also knew this guy had orders, and they stated the line stopped here. We didn’t cross unless we caved.
“Adriana…” The word was her name, but the warning was clear.
